


Hayfever

by AdamantSteve



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, PWP, Sex Pollen, semi public sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 21:04:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plotless porn - marked Dubious Consent because they both get dosed with the fabled 'sex pollen' and can't help themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hayfever

One moment Phil's reaching a hand out to pull Clint back from a cloud of stuff that just came out of a plant and the next they're rutting and panting into each others necks. Phil gets so hard so quickly it makes him dizzy, but Clint just takes his weight when he leans on him, moaning as he does it. There's a rational voice in Phil's brain telling him this isn't normal, that they need to stop, that there's something in the air, but that voice gets smaller when he pulls out his earpiece and then he's just an _animal_ , but so is Clint - they’re animals in heat. 

 

The straps of Clint's tac uniform are stupidly strong, but Phil's so desperate that he pulls uselessly at them anyway, too gone to process the needlessly complicated buckles, and Clint's no better. The buttons fly away as he rips Phil's shirt, whimpering and ducking his head to nuzzle at his chest. Phil curls himself over him, holding Clint's head as he moves lower, tearing and pulling so hard at the waist of Phil's pants that it has to leave bruises, but Phil's glad, he wants all the marks Clint can give him. He pulls Clint up so he can get more of his hot mouth on his, tongues crashing together messily, the two of them barely holding together as they give in to the all consuming need to _have_ one another.

 

"Please," Clint says against Phil's chest as he tries to tackle the thousands of buckles on the vest again. "Yes," Phil promises, though all he knows right now is that he wants to get his hands under the vest; he'd promise the world just to get to Clint's skin. He pushes him back, and Clint goes easily, pulling the ragged end of Phil's shirt as he goes til Phil's leaning over him against a wall and he feels like he's the smartest man in the world when he pulls his knife from his jacket and just cuts the goddamn straps clean through. Clint whines and crashes their chests together once the vest is out of the way, sliding his hands around Phil, and it's too hot, too close, this is all unreal and wrong but it's so good Phil can't bring himself to care much less stop. 

 

For a second he tries to cut through Clint's belt til he takes the knife from his hand, and undoes both their belts with a look of desperate concentration on his face. "Clint," Phil pants as their freed cocks finally grind together. He's hard as a goddamn rock, and Clint is too. When Phil can get his hands to cooperate, he drags them reluctantly away from where he's squeezing Clint's pectorals to wrap his hand around the man's dick, and it's as hot and velvet smooth as he'd imagined. 

 

He's climbing over Clint - he doesn't even know how they went from the wall to some kind of table, but god it's perfect, and Clint's pants are gone, rags around his boots somehow. As hard as Phil's body sings with desire he stops and looks for a moment at the wet dream laid out beneath him, pulling his legs up and pleading with him, with his voice and with his eyes. "Phil, please. Need you to. _Please_." 

 

It shouldn't be so easy to sink into Clint, with a cursory gob of spit and pleas from Clint all they have to ease the way, but Clint's open and ready, like this is what he's _for_ , and it makes no sense, it makes no sense at all, but that far away voice is screaming at him and Phil figures he'll listen later, that right now it's just events taking their logical course of action where his dick goes inside Clint Barton because that's where it's meant to go. It's not like either of them has any say in it, it's just fate.

 

Clint's hot perfection around Phil's cock, and he moves fluidly til he's fucking him, that tiny voice telling him this is so not how this was meant to go but it's better, with Clint arching his back beneath him and begging to be _bred_. He grabs at Phil's shirt again and pulls him down, hands scrabbling against his chest, both hot and cold at the same time, cooling and soothing and exactly what Phil needs against his feverish skin. He pants words to that effect against Clint's neck before he bites it, sucking a deep maroon bruise there that he licks at, sweat salty and delicious, marking him as his. 

 

Clint's arms around Phil are bands of steel as he holds him tightly, in the exact right position for Phil to grind in and out, til he's pressed so deeply there's no more to give, as much as Clint pleads for it. Clint clenches around him a couple of times, moaning as he does it, saying "please please please, I need it."

"Anything," Phil promises, pulling back as far as he can in Clint's vice like grip to kiss his mouth again, both of them so ferocious and bruising that it leaves Clint with shining red lips when Phil pulls away. 

 

He moves as best he can til Clint lessens his hold to just grab onto Phil's arms instead, and Phil can fuck him properly, slamming into him and shaking apart as he feels an orgasm rushing it's way through him. He tries to stop, to hold back because this is it, this is all his world has become and he's not sure what happens afterwards, but then Clint tells him "breed me," and he drives in as hard as he can, jerking helplessly as he comes inside him, Clint pulling him down again and kissing him through it, his own orgasm a muffled whimper in the back of his throat and a hard jerk of his untouched cock against Phil's belly signalling Clint’s orgasm and more slick hotness between them. 

 

They lay like that with breaths shared as they look at each other. The fog clears enough that Phil realises that tiny voice that was yelling at him is coming from the earpiece hanging amongst the tangled remains of his shirt. They both keep staring at each other as they listen to Sitwell asking if they're done yet and how he's absolutely not coming in there til they're done, and how he ought to get at least two vacation days for mental anguish at having to listen to whatever the fuck just happened.

 

Phil moves to put it back in his ear and try to explain, but Clint shoots him a look of - something, challenge, maybe - and Phil lets go of it.

"Again?" he mouths.

Clint bites his sinfully red lips and nods. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely inspired by Not_You's story [Mating Season](http://archiveofourown.org/works/801663?view_full_work=true) purely because Peter Parker says 'breed me' at one point in it and that got me to trying to figure out how to have Clint saying it. 
> 
> In this I figured the pollen would just make Clint's muscles relax a whole lot and therefore remove the need for a ton of prep before they get to boning each other's brains out.
> 
> Thanks to Dunicha for beta reading, though I then messed around with it a little before posting it, so any mistakes are likely mine.


End file.
